


Mutter, Mutter

by flutter



Category: Bell Book and Candle (1958)
Genre: Gen, Jimmy Stewart, obscure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-05
Updated: 2005-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:23:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutter/pseuds/flutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>AU (you know, if the movie took place now)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Mutter, Mutter

**Author's Note:**

> AU (you know, if the movie took place now)

“He’s an odious character, isn’t he,” Shep muttered. Shep always muttered. His words were never murmured or mumbled. They were muttered.   
  
He was known for his mutterings on the bruising of bananas: “ _They grow too soft too soon_ ,” he’d mutter and anyone near by would, as always, ask “what was that, Shep?” He was also well known for his mutterings on French toast: “ _the middles are always too eggy—no one cooks french toast the way it should be_.”   
  
No one actually understood what he was saying; they more or less guessed the topics of his mutterings. If he ever spoke to them directly, they’d smile knowingly, nod their heads and let him keep on muttering.   
  
“He’d an odious character, isn’t he,” Shep repeated. Shep hated repeating himself. He quite possibly hated it more than eggy French toast. Probably not as much as bruised bananas, though, and that was a kind of consolation to him. _Well, at least they’re not bruised bananas._  
  
He waited for someone to answer him—waited for someone to say, “yep, that guy sure is odious, Shep,” though he doubted they knew what it meant.   
  
When Shep turned to look at his group of friends, he saw that they were smiling at him. There wasn’t anything about a despicable coward of a man that should make someone smile. Yet, and much to Shep’s disgust, there they were—all of them nodding their heads, smiles plastered to their faces. Why, they were like bobble heads; they’re heads rocked back and forth and Shep found he had himself the urge to smack at their rocking heads, just to see if they’d snap back and bobble faster.  
  
Maybe he could put them on the dashboard of his car. He could turn his friends into bobble heads and take them everywhere. They could bobble at passing cars, bobble at the drivers Shep flung muttered curses at, bobble at the lean, narrow hipped men that sometimes Shep found himself watching. It was too bad he didn't have a car.  
  
Shep looked away before he started bobbing his head back in return.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Odious.”


End file.
